


In Case of Emergency, Contact

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accident, Cuddling, Kissing, Love, M/M, Sherlock Looks After John, Worry, emergency contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: An emergency changes everything at 221B Baker Street.





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> We aim to update once a month. All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, you can leave them in the comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

The car came out of nowhere. John was crossing the street and the driver ran the light. Thankfully they weren't going too fast or things could have been much worse. John remembered seeing the car, and he remembered a few minutes in the ambulance. He passed out and woke up again when he was in the trauma bay, doctors and nurses firing questions at him that he was slow to answer. He didn't even know if they could hear him. Was he talking out loud? He gave up trying to answer and switched to saying 'phone' over and over. All of his information was on there, if they would just look. 

John closed his eyes. He was in pain, and he was tired. They must have given him some kind of medicine already. 

"There's only one emergency contact."

John sighed and nodded, unsure if anyone was paying attention. 

"Matches the name on record -- the power of attorney."

John hummed softly and let the drug take him under. They were on the right track. 

"Yes, is this Sherlo . . ." 

John was out.

"Yes," Sherlock said. He was impatient, waiting for John to arrive on the crime scene. He wanted to start working, but wanted John here. "Who is this and what do you want?"

"This is Rachel, I'm a nurse," she said. "I'm calling because John Watson has been in an accident and we need to operate. He has you listed as his power of attorney, and we need you to come down and make decisions."

Sherlock immediately began to walk away from the scene, though he could hear Lestrade calling him. "What's happened?" he said sharply. "What's happened? Is he all right? I need to speak with him."

"Please, I can explain more when you arrive. He can't speak right now, he's going up to surgery."

"I'm on my way," Sherlock said, already in a taxi.

He watched the cars pass them as they drove through traffic. What had John been doing? Why had he insisted on going to the surgery when he should have been with Sherlock? What had he been thinking?

Sherlock threw some money at the driver and quickly rushed into the hospital. "John Watson," he said stupidly when he got to the desk. "They called -- I need to see him."

The woman looked up John's name and went to get one of the nurses instead. They walked out together and she motioned for Sherlock to follow. "We can talk in the family waiting room, please."

Sherlock wasn't sure if he should clarify that he wasn't family, so he just followed stupidly, glancing around as if John would suddenly appear and explain some misunderstanding.

She helped Sherlock sit on the small sofa. "He was hit by a car. He's in surgery right now and we have high expectations, but of course there is always a risk. We need your signature on some paperwork." She paused, watching his face for a moment. "He has his decisions on file . . . about how far we can go to bring him back if something happens . . . we just need signatures on file along the way."

"I need to see him --" Sherlock started but then realised it was stupid to continue. "I . . . I'll do whatever you need."

"I know this is difficult, but we're doing everything we can. You can follow me to the unit we'll be bringing him to after surgery. They'll let you see him as soon as possible." She stood up to lead the way.

Sherlock stood up and followed her. He wanted a cigarette but knew that wasn't allowed. He wanted a cup of tea but didn't want to ask. He didn't want any of this to be happening. He wanted he and John to be at home right now, but they weren't. They were here at the hospital, and Sherlock felt alone and afraid.

"They will bring the paperwork out as needed, if needed. Mostly consent forms for blood transfusions, intubation, things like that. Someone from client services will be able to tell you his wishes -- unless you know them already?"

Sherlock's head spun with her words. "No . . . I don't know . . . anything," he said flatly. "I don't know . . ."

She showed Sherlock to a secluded corner in the family waiting room. "As soon as they are finished, the doctor will come and find you. Do you need anything before I go?" she asked. 

"A cup of tea, please," he said. "If that's possible."

She nodded and spoke to the woman at the information desk. She came back a few minutes later with a large cup of tea. Before leaving, she directed Sherlock to the woman at the desk if he needed anything else. 

Sherlock sat back in the chair and took a sip of tea. He wasn't sure what to do -- it felt like he should be doing something. Either something to help John or something to speed things up. He should be doing more than just sitting here. He thought about all the times John had done things for him, helping him in some way, fixing a problem that Sherlock himself had likely caused. It didn't feel right, sitting here without doing something.

He looked at his phone and saw a message from Lestrade, asking if things were okay. How was he supposed to answer that when he didn't know? Sherlock hated not knowing, but the truth was he didn't, so he sent no reply. After a while he got up and requested another cup of tea, but tried to drink it more slowly as he continued to wait. 

He had to focus on something. Otherwise, he was afraid he’d break.


	2. Waiting

Two hours after John was taken into surgery, a nurse came out and spoke with the woman at the desk before finding Sherlock. "Mr Holmes?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, standing up quickly. He had an immediate wave of fear -- afraid of what she was going to say, afraid of how he would react.

"We need to give John a unit of blood, I need your signature to do that," she said. 

"Of course, right," Sherlock said, grabbing at the pen. "Where is he? Will he be all right? When can I see him?"

"Still in surgery. I'm estimating a little over an hour before we're done. He'll be taken to a room and we will go from there."

Sherlock scribbled his name on the form. "I need to see him, though," he said. "So . . . just I'll need to see him as soon as it's possible," he added quietly.

"Yes, we'll have you in his room as soon as it's possible," she said. 

"Thank you," he sat down and the realised he needed the toilet. He tried to put it out of his mind but then remembered she'd said it'd be an hour. He didn't totally trust her, but decided he'd better go now so he could stop thinking about it. He rushed down the hallway and when he came back out, he was momentarily tempted to wander and see if he could find John. In any other situation, that was probably what he'd do. But this was different. Everything about this felt different, so he went back to his chair to wait.

It was another two hours before someone came out. It was the doctor this time, walking straight to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, standing up. "I've been here the whole time," he added, though he wasn't sure why.

"There were some internal injuries, he was bleeding, but he’s stabilised and we think everything is taken care of. He's receiving blood now to replenish what was lost. There's a lot of bruising but that will heal with time. As soon as he's situated in his room someone will come get you. They will have a few questions about his history."

"Please --" Sherlock started, but his voice sounded unfamiliar. It seemed desperate which was something he rarely was. "Of course," he said, straightening himself up before going to sit down again.

It was only a few minutes before someone came out to get him, leading Sherlock to John's room.

As they walked Sherlock's fear returned and for a moment he wasn't sure he could keep going. He didn't know what he'd see when he entered John's room, and the possibilities made his breath catch in his throat. He took an exaggerated deep breath and just tried to focus on the air moving in and out of his lungs.

John was laying asleep, hooked up to IVs, a heart and oxygen monitor, and a blood pressure cuff. Most of the bruising was covered by the gown, but there was some on his arms and face. 

"Will you be staying the night?” the nurse asked Sherlock. “We can bring in a small cot,” she said. 

Sherlock was looking at John. He didn't hear her but he realised she must have said something. "I don't know," he mumbled and then moved close to John's side. He held John's hand and then asked, "Is this all right?" even though he knew John wouldn't answer.

"It's okay. It might encourage him to wake up," the nurse answered, assuming Sherlock was talking to her. 

Sherlock glanced over and acknowledged her. She said she'd return soon and then left.

"John," he said quietly. "What have you done? I didn't know . . . I just . . . I don't know what I'm supposed to do about all this. You're the one who takes care of things and now . . . I just want you to wake up and come home, all right? Will you just do that, please?"


	3. John Wakes Up

The nurse came back with her computer and asked a lot of questions about John's smoking and drinking habits, any drug use or medication, and family history. Some things Sherlock could answer, but others they'd have to wait for John. She brought Sherlock more tea and carried on, leaving them alone. 

Eventually John started to stir. His fingers curled lightly, and he groaned softly as he tried to shift. Everything hurt.

"John, I'm here," Sherlock said. "It's me -- Sherlock. I'm here." He reached to hold John's hand again.

John squeezed his hand lightly as he turned his head and blinked his eyes open. "Lock?" he mumbled, his mouth dry. He smacked his lips lightly and tried to lick them. 

"Do you need something?" Sherlock said, glancing up at the call button. He saw a cup of water on the table. "Can you have water?" he asked. He stood up and then leaned over the bed a little. "John Watson, it's me, Sherlock Holmes. Are you all right, please?"

John nodded slightly, closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. "Water," he murmured. But a small part of him was still in doctor mode. "Ask . . ."

Sherlock pressed the call button and then got up and moved to the door. He saw a nurse and stopped her. "He needs water," he said. "Can he have water? He needs help . . ."

The nurse came in to check his chart. "Not yet," she said. "They just need some test results first. We can bring some ice chips to wet his mouth," she offered. When Sherlock nodded, she went to get them, coming back with a small cup.

Sherlock scooped one out of the cup and rubbed it against John's lips before slipping the remainder of it inside his mouth. "John, are you going to be okay?" he said softly. "You don't have to talk . . . just promise me you'll be okay."

John nodded, chewing on the ice cube. He swallowed again and licked his lips. "Just banged up," he said, trying to give him a little smile. 

Sherlock smiled in return. "Well, this was all a bit much, don't you think?" he said, relaxing a little for the first time in hours. "I did not expect such drama from you." He scooped another ice chip from the cup and put it in John's mouth.

"Thanks," he murmured. He winced as he shifted again. "I got out of work early . . . I was trying to get to the scene . . ."

A twinge of guilt went through Sherlock. "It doesn't matter," he said. "All that matters is that you're all right." He touched John's hand again, but didn't hold onto it. "So you'll be able to come home with me?" he asked, even though he knew the answer and knew it was what he didn't want to hear.

". . . a few days," John said. He blinked to keep his eyes open. The medicine was making him sleepy, but he wanted to feel clear for just a few minutes. "Did you solve the case?" 

"What? No," Sherlock said. "Not yet, at least. There's still time for you to swoop in and figure it out before me." He gave John a small smile.

"I don't think the accident knocked that much sense into me.”

"You're a different kind of genius," Sherlock said. He took a deep breath and then sat for a moment before saying, "I didn't realise I was your emergency contact. I wasn't sure what to do -- my first thought was to say 'pull the plug' but then I thought I'd better check with you first if that was all right."

John looked over at him. "Of course, I put you. You're my best friend and . . . well, I don't have anyone else."

"Well, that probably could have been said a bit more sweetly, but I understand," Sherlock said. "I don't really have one but I guess you'd be mine as well." He paused for a moment. "We should maybe talk about it, though -- when you come home, I mean."

"Wouldn't you use your brother?" John asked. "My sister . . . well, there's a high chance they couldn't reach her, and if they could she'd be in no state to help, you know?"

"I'm not sure I could guarantee that his decisions would be in my best interest," Sherlock said. "You . . . I trust." He looked away. "We can talk about it when you're better. You're not going to be lazy and drag this out a long time, are you?" he asked, deliberately lightening his voice.

John smiled softly. "This is my chance to have you wait on me hand and foot," he teased.

"That's what we pay National Insurance for, to have nurses do that," Sherlock said. He stood up and walked around the room. "Look, the nurse asked if I wanted to stay here tonight. Do I? I mean, do you want me to?"

"You don't have to. The sofa bed will be uncomfortable," he said.

"I didn't ask you if I had to," Sherlock said, staring out the window. "I asked if you want me to."

John didn't know what to say. He wanted Sherlock here, but he didn't want Sherlock to be uncomfortable. "You can go home and rest comfortably," he said.

"John, for the last few hours I was afraid you might die and it was an incredibly unpleasant thought," Sherlock said. "You did not die. However, you've been awake for about fifteen minutes and you're already annoying me." He turned around and looked at John. "The question is simple: do you want me to stay? The answer options are yes or no."

John opened his mouth and then closed it again. He was hurting, but he knew Sherlock had been scared as well. He wanted Sherlock to be comfortable, but he didn't want to be alone in the hospital. Not again. Wasn't it okay to be a little bit selfish? He looked at Sherlock and nodded. "Yes please."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He smiled softly and then glanced at his watch. "I need to get out of this building and have a cigarette. Do you want me to bring you anything? Do you need something from the flat? Let me know and I'll get what you need." He paused. "And this time just tell me so we don't have to do that little dance again, yeah?"

John rolled his eyes softly. "I can't eat yet and they won't let me wear normal clothes. I think it would hurt." He shifted in bed again. "Get something comfortable for yourself. And something for you to eat, please."

"All right," Sherlock said. He moved to the door but turned before he left and said, "No more traumas until I return, all right?" He gave John a smile.

John nodded, watching him leave the room.

Sherlock stopped at the nurses' station and told them he'd be staying. He asked what John would be allowed to eat and then headed out. The minute he hit the fresh air, he lit up a cigarette and smoked it too quickly so he had another before grabbing a taxi back to the flat. When he got home, he gave Mrs Hudson an update and then grabbed a few things from his desk. He went up to John's room and looked around for anything obvious to grab, but didn't see anything so instead he just got John's toothbrush and mug and headed back to the hospital.

The nurse came into John's room and opened the cot, bringing an extra pillow and blankets. She came back with the computer and finished the questions, as well as checking his results. "I'll have the doctor change your diet to liquids for now, okay?"

John nodded, sipping the water from the melted ice. 

Sherlock had two more cigarettes on his way back to the hospital.


	4. The First Night In Hospital

Sherlock dumped his bag on the chair before asking John, "Did you want me to bring your teddy bear back? I know you think he's a secret, but I wasn't sure if you needed him to sleep at night?"

John flipped Sherlock off and smiled. "I appreciate you staying."

"Not a problem," Sherlock said. “You seem a little more normal at the moment. I hope you stay that way.” He handed John a brown paper bag. "I brought you a nice dinner as a bit of a treat," he said.

"I can't -- I've only just been upgraded to liquids," he said. He hated to turn it away, it wasn't often Sherlock did things like this.

"Obviously," Sherlock said, nodding him for him to open the bag.

John peeked into the bag and pulled out a big bowl of chicken broth. John bit his lip and smiled. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," Sherlock said. "I ordered myself a pizza -- they'll be delivering any minute now."

John laughed softly, then winced at the pain that shot through him. "I’m not angry, as long as you're eating."

"I had my dinner on the way over," Sherlock said.

"Don't lie to me. What if I die?" he teased. 

"Don't joke," Sherlock said.

John's smile faded a bit. "Sorry. I'm fine -- I feel fine," he said.

"Well, you don't look fine," Sherlock said. "I mean, well, you look a wreck." He looked over and for some reason reached out and touched John's hand. "I can tolerate your appearance, though, don't feel bad on my behalf." He gave him a little smile.

John flicked him off again. "I haven't seen myself yet, but I have an idea it's pretty rough."

"It is. It's horrible really -- your pretty face all . . . a mess," Sherlock said. "I'm kind of cross at you for it actually, but I'm mature enough to get over it."

"You're being awfully mean," John teased. "Is this because you couldn't show me up at the case? Hear my praises?" He cleared his throat. "You're amazing, Sherlock. Brilliant. Fantastic. Am I off the hook now?"

"Yes, that's better . . . I do like that, you know," Sherlock said. He looked around the room. "Are nurses going to be coming in and out of here all night, do you think?"

"They shouldn't because I'm hooked up to everything. When I'm cleared to move to an ordinary room, they’ll be for vitals and stuff like that," he explained. He sipped on his broth and lay back, sighing softly. The medicine was becoming harder to fight again. "I'm sorry . . . I think I'm going to fall asleep."

"That's okay, John," Sherlock said. He moved his chair back a little. "I'll sit here awhile, yeah?" he said. "And if I go out for a fag, I'll be back -- I'll be here all night, I promise."

John nodded as he settled back in the bed. "Night, Sherlock," he said, letting the medicine take him under.

Sherlock watched John sleep for a little while and then felt his own eyes start to close. This had been a long day -- nothing about it had been what Sherlock had been expecting and those days were often the most tiring, especially when the surprises were not good ones.

He woke up a few hours later, at first confused before remembering. He stood up and moved to John's bedside, just looking at him for a few moments. Then he held onto John's hand, lifting his arm lightly to look at his injuries. He leaned forward a little and looked at John's face. His hand instinctively moved to brush John's hair softly away from his eyes, which then seemed a strange thing to do. He got up and left the room, nodding to the nurse, before making his way downstairs for a cigarette. He checked his phone -- sending a quick text to Lestrade saying all was fine and he'd be in touch tomorrow. Then he went back upstairs and got out a book to read in the dim light of the quiet room.

John slept for a few hours. He woke up and for a moment forgot what happened. He was starting to feel the pain again but he wanted to hold off on the medicine. It made him so drowsy. He shifted and made a soft sound. He was definitely bruised up.

Sherlock glanced over, not sure if John was waking up or not. He moved to the bed and leaned down, whispering, "I'm here -- do you need something?"

John shook his head, touching Sherlock's hand. "M'fine," he mumbled.

Sherlock gave a small smile and this time tried the cot to lie down. However, it was terribly uncomfortable so he moved back to the chair and drifted off to sleep.

John glanced over and was glad Sherlock was getting some rest, though seeing him in that chair trying to get comfortable made him feel odd. He was seeing Sherlock like a new person, though he felt guilty thinking that. He drifted off again and didn't wake up until the nurse came in the morning with more medicine. 


	5. John's Recovery, In Hospital

John asked for something to make him less drowsy, suggesting a couple things but also understanding a doctor would have to order it for him. She left to call the doctor and he looked over at Sherlock. "Do I look any better?" He pulled a stupid face.

Sherlock stretched and then stood up, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he looked closely at John. "To be honest, you look worse," he said. "Did you get worse in the night? The hospital's supposed to be making you better."

"They are. But bruising will run its course regardless," John said.

Sherlock inspected him again. "I'm sorry this happened," he said softly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

John studied his face. "You're amazing, Sherlock, but even you couldn't have stopped a moving car," he said. "I'll be okay now. Don't worry."

"I want you to be," Sherlock said. "I know I'm not very good at all this . . . 'caring' business, but I do care and I want to help." He looked around a little. "Am I going to stay here until you get out?"

John shook his head. "No, it could be a week," he said.

"A week? John, that's not acceptable -- can't you try harder or something?"

"Sherlock, my insides are probably as bruised as my outsides. They have to make sure it's safe to go home, that the pain won't be unmanageable."

"I'll take care of you, John," Sherlock said. "I'll make it okay for you at home." He turned slightly. "I just want you to come home."

"It's just that IV medicine is stronger -- I have to feel better before they give me the oral kind." 

"Drugs?" Sherlock said. "It all boils down to drugs -- shameful." A smile crossed his face. "Look, I need to go home and shower and yes, I need a cigarette. I'll come back in a bit, yeah?"

John nodded. He didn't have the heart to tell Sherlock that he wouldn't be able to run all over London as soon as he got home. "Take your time, okay? I'm fine."

"All right," Sherlock said, grabbing up his stuff. "Do you need anything? I'll bring whatever you want."

"No, I'm okay," John said. "Go rest."

"I'm going to get shower," Sherlock said as he headed out. He grabbed a taxi home, dumping his bag as he came in. He turned the kettle on and quickly showered so that he had a hot cup of tea when he came out. He took the cup of tea into his bedroom to get out some clothes. He sat down on the bed and then lay down and then fell asleep.

John lay back and was about to try and sleep again when someone knocked on the door. 

"Jesus," Greg said softly. "You look like a mess."

"Thanks," John smiled.

"I can't believe it. The way Sherlock left -- I knew it had to be serious."

"He left the crime scene?" John asked.

"Oh come on, don't act surprised. I told you at the very beginning I've never seen him so . . . attached. I thought he was going to faint when he was on the phone. How are you?"

John digested that information for a moment. "Um, yeah. Nothing broken, by some miracle. Very bruised up, inside as well. They took care of some bleeding, but I'll be okay soon enough."

At the flat, Sherlock woke up. He felt disoriented and stayed still for a few moments. Then he pulled out his phone and rang John.

As Greg was going to leave, John's mobile started ringing. He couldn't reach it so Greg brought it over, shaking it and grinning.

"Hi Sherlock," John said.

"John, I fell asleep, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "Are you all right?"

"Of course, Sherlock. Please calm down," he said. "I'm fine."

Greg raised his hand in a wave. "I told you," he whispered loudly.

"What should I do? Should I come there? What do you need?"

"I need you to relax, okay?" John said. "Please. I'm fine. You don't have to come all the way back right away. Or even tonight if you want to rest properly."

"Honestly? Please tell me honestly," Sherlock said.

"I'm always honest with you."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I'd like to sleep a little more, I think," he said quietly.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" John said.

"I'll call you when I wake up and we can decide, all right?"

"All right, Sherlock."

"Okay," Sherlock said. He set the phone down and then rolled over, falling asleep again quickly.

John put the phone down and drifted in and out of sleep himself, moving the bed angle and trying to shift around as much as he could to get comfortable. 

When Sherlock woke up, it was quite early in the morning. He quickly checked his phone but found no messages. He got up and put the kettle on when he heard a knock at the door. Mrs Hudson let herself in and wanted the details of John's accident. He did his best to explain.

"Perhaps I'll go visit him tomorrow," she said. "Cheer him up a little."

"I'm taking care of that," Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson pulled a face. "You in charge of cheer?" she said. "I find that a little hard to believe."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, handing her a mug. "I am, though. I stayed there last night and am going back shortly as soon as I wake up properly."

"Should I ride with you?"

"Can do," he said. "But I won't be coming back here."

She looked over. "Where are you going?"

"I told you -- the hospital," he explained. "I'll stay there until John returns."

"Sherlock, he just had surgery -- how long will he be there?"

"No idea," he said. "But I'm staying."

She reached over and touched his arm lightly. She thought of poor John, trapped in a hospital bed while Sherlock paced, complaining about boredom. "That's probably not necessary," she said.

"You don't think I can do it, do you?"

"Do what?"

"Take care of someone," he said. "Look after John."

Mrs Hudson was surprised by his response, but did her best not to let it show. "Of course, you can," she said. "I just mean maybe it's not the best way to do it -- after all, the doctors and nurses are looking after him right now. Your time might be better spent doing other things. . ."

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Um, like getting the flat ready for a poorly person -- doing the shopping, tidying, that kind of stuff."

Sherlock thought for a moment. She did kind of have a point. But he'd still need to go visit John every day. He didn't want to have a day without seeing John. "Maybe," he said. "We'll see what John says."

Mrs Hudson took a sip of tea, trying to read Sherlock's face without his noticing.

For lunch, John had a soft foods meal, or half of it, because mashed sausage was not very good. They took more blood tests and did more scans. He knew the results would take a while, and he knew he still had a bit to go before he went home, but he was anxious. He was going a bit mad stuck in this little room. 

When Mrs Hudson left, Sherlock washed up the cups and then picked up his phone to ring John.

"Are you all right?" he asked when John answered.

"Yes, just waiting for some test results," he said. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did -- I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise for that, Sherlock. I'm glad," he said. 

"Should I come to the hospital?" Sherlock asked. What Mrs Hudson had said was in the back of his mind, but he wanted to do whatever John wanted him to do.

"I wouldn't mind a visit, but you don't have to stay all night again. I should just be getting caught up on sleep -- it’ll speed up my recovery and I’ll be home sooner," John explained.

"Should I bring anything?"

"Maybe a couple books? And my computer?" 

Sherlock thought for a moment -- it wouldn't be very fun to just watch John reading. "All right," he said. "I'll be there in a bit."

They hung up and Sherlock got John's things together. He threw some clothes and his toothbrush into a bag so he could stay if John wanted him to and put some tea into a flask to take with him before heading off.

He nodded to the nurses before he went into John's room. "I brought your things," he said, laying the bad on the bed. "And some proper tea."

John smiled, turning off the telly. "Thank you," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm fine -- what did the doctors say? When can you come home?"

"I'm still waiting to hear about the results," he said.

"What have you been doing while I was away? Flirting with nurses?"

John shrugged playfully. "What have you been doing?"

"Sleeping," Sherlock said plainly. "Was I supposed to be doing something else?" He poured John a cup of tea and handed it to him. "Are you drugged right now or what?"

"I was just asking," he said, sipping his tea. 

"Look, if I'm going to be here anyway, do you think they might give me a drip of whatever that is?" Sherlock asked, motioning to the bag. 

"Nope," John said simply. "Tell me about the case."

"Being run over by a car has made you no fun," Sherlock pouted. However, he poured himself a cup of tea and sat down on the bed before launching into the details of what he'd discovered before he got the call from the hospital. John listened as Sherlock talked about the case, glad to have something else to focus on besides his boredom.

"And then I had to leave because . . . you know," Sherlock said. "I don't know what happened -- I haven't spoken to Lestrade."

"He came by to visit but we didn't really talk about it much."

"When? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was just yesterday," he said. "He just came to see how I was doing."

"He didn't tell me," Sherlock said. For some reason, that bothered him. "What else did he say?"

"Not much," John shrugged. He didn't want to tell Sherlock about Greg describing his reaction. It seemed intimate, somehow.

"All right," Sherlock said. "Well, here's your laptop and books and all. Do you want me to get anything for you? Are you hungry?"

"No, I just ate a little bit ago." John shifted and fought wincing in front of Sherlock just as the doctor came in. He introduced himself and then started asking John questions about his pain. The good thing about being a doctor himself was that this was all very direct and short. No need for explanations and sugar coating. 

He was still in pain when he moved too much. The scans still showed significant bruising, but his blood work was steady. There was no more internal bleeding. They would keep him for a few more days, keeping up the stronger pain medicine until the bruising and swelling went down. After that he could go home under strict instructions to take it easy and take his medicine when needed. John thanked him before he left, looking over at Sherlock. "Just a few more days."

"I accept that," Sherlock said. "I'm convinced I could take care of you just fine at home if they sent the medication with it, but I accept it. At least it's not too long." Mrs Hudson's words flashed in his mind, and he felt a little panic that he might not have enough time to get everything ready. "Do you want me to stay with you until you come home -- I can sleep here if you need me to?"

John shook his head. "I know it's uncomfortable. You don't have to do that. I'll be home soon."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Well, I don't need to decide right now, but I do need some information about what things you might need once you get back," he said. "And before you say 'Sherlock, stop making a fuss,' it was Mrs Hudson's idea so I've got to have some kind of list to hand to her. So what might you need or want to make your recovery better?"

John smirked. "I'll need your room . . . I won't be able to use the stairs for a while. And breakfast in bed."

"All right," Sherlock said, getting out some paper and scribbling it down. "What kind of food do you want?"

John chuckled softly. "Sherlock, I was teasing. My room will be fine. You don't have to do anything extra," he said. 

Sherlock looked up. "John, something quite traumatic has happened to you -- don't pretend it hasn't," he said. "I want to make sure you're okay when you get home. This chance may never occur again, so you should probably take advantage." What he also wanted to say was that something traumatic had occurred to him as well, but that didn't seem fair or relevant or logical, so he kept that to himself.

"Sherlock, I appreciate it, really." He reached out and then felt self-conscious about the movement, straightening the covers instead. "But I just want things to be as normal as possible, okay?"

"All right, I understand," Sherlock said, putting the paper down. Then he looked up at John. "But things aren't normal, are they? You almost died, John, and it scared me . . . let me help you get better." He picked up the paper again. "What kind of soup do you like? I think I handle soup."

John felt his body warm and he fiddled with the covers again. "Chicken noodle or tomato," he said. If Sherlock really wanted to do this, he would let Sherlock do it.

Sherlock scribbled that down. "You like fruit, I think," he said. "What kind?"

"Any kind really," he said. "Apples mostly."

Sherlock wrote apples then added oranges as well. "Anything else you can think of or should I just use my imagination?" he asked.

"I don't know. We'll figure it out as we go along."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I'll get it ready, but I can always go out if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," he said. "Thanks Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled. He put the list into his pocket and moved to the chair. "Have you contacted work?" he asked. "Is there anyone you want me to call for you?"

"I haven't called work," he said. "I left that day and they might think I'm on a case. Will you call Sarah, please?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. He pulled out his phone, dialling the surgery. "It's DI Lestrade calling for Doctor Sawyer, please." He looked over at John and winked.

"Hello?"

"It's Sherlock Holmes. I'm calling about Doctor Watson -- he's been in an accident. He is currently recovering and will be unable to work."

"Sherlock!" Sarah said. "What are you talking about? Is it John okay? Let me talk to him --"

"He's sleeping," Sherlock said. "You can come see him if you don't believe me."

Sarah paused. "I believe you, Sherlock," she said. "Tell him I'll give him a call tomorrow, yeah?"

Sherlock hung up. "She'll call you tomorrow," he said. "God, she's still boring . . ."

John watched with raised brows, half amused and half exasperated. "Thanks."

"And your sister?"

John shook his head. "No, we don't have to."

"You sure?" 

John nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't worry about that."

Sherlock looked over. "What should I worry about, John?" he asked quietly. "I didn't think I'd have to worry about your getting hurt, but you did. I feel like I don't know what to do . . ."

John looked over and this time he did reach out, taking Sherlock's hand. "I'm fine now, Sherlock, or I will be soon enough. You're doing fine. Great," he said.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. "I've not done anything yet," he said. "We'll see how you are once you come home." He let go of John's hand and sat back in the chair.

John looked at their hands separating and nodded. "A few more days," he said.

"Right," Sherlock said. He picked up the remote and turned the television on. He clicked through the channels for a while and then settled on the news. When John's dinner came, Sherlock decided he would leave. "You'll ring me if you need anything, right?" he said, grabbing his bag. "I'll come back and bring you anything you need."

John nodded. "All right. I'll see you soon," he said. He smiled and lifted his hand in a wave.

Sherlock headed home, dropping off his bag and going back down to Mrs Hudson's immediately. "I have a list," he said. "I need your help."


	6. John Comes Home

John spent the next few days exhausting everything Sherlock had brought him. He was bored of reading and browsing on the computer. He wanted to be able to move around again, even if it was limited. 

Sherlock visited every day, John spoke to Sarah and Mrs Hudson on the phone, and then he was back to waiting around. After another round of tests, they decided that he could go home the next day. They started weening him off of the IV pain medicine, and he called Sherlock to let him know he could come home.

After speaking to John, Sherlock went into a mild panic until Mrs Hudson came up to calm him down.

"Everything is good, Sherlock," she said. "You've done well -- don't spoil it with silliness."

Sherlock frowned. "I just don't . . ." he started.

"Don't what?"

"Don't think I can do it," he said. "Take care of him. He made me his emergency contact. . . I had to sign things . . . I don't know how to do it any of this . . ."

She went over and gave him a little hug.

"Why are you hugging me?" he asked.

"Because you are stupid and sweet," she said, stepping back. "There's a reason he trusts you, Sherlock. Because he knows you'll do the right thing and you are."

The next morning John was discharged with new medication. He was wheeled put to the parking lot where he got into a cab, very slowly. The jostling ride home was not very comfortable -- he was extremely happy when they finally made it to the flat. He patted around for his wallet and sighed. He picked up the phone and called Sherlock, ignoring the annoyed look of the driver.

"Sherlock? I don't have my wallet, can you come down and pay for my taxi?"

Sherlock opened the door. "I'm here," he said. He pulled out his wallet and paid the driver, slipping John's bag over his shoulder and grabbing John's arm. "Come on, let me help you."

"I can walk," he said, even as he leaned on Sherlock. It was slow going, moving into the flat and upstairs. In the flat John looked around, eyes blinking in surprise.

The flat was spotless, there were flowers on both tables, and there were new books and DVDs piled on the coffee table. 

"I just boiled the kettle," Sherlock said, moving into the kitchen. "Get comfortable . . .wherever, however you need."

John nodded, moving to the sofa and sitting carefully. "You did all this?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "So you'd have a nice place to recover." He brought the tea in. "Mrs Hudson helped a little."

"I appreciate it. It looks nice in here," John said.

"Well . . . shut up about it already," Sherlock said. "Just because you're home doesn't mean you can start nagging me."

"I was being nice!" John said indignantly.

"Well," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. "It's good to have you back," he added quietly.

John smiled softly and sipped on his tea. "Will you be making dinner?"

"Not tonight," Sherlock said. "Tonight we'll have a proper meal brought in." He took another drink. "You feeling okay? Do you bring medication home with you? Do you need me to be in charge of that?"

"I feel okay. I do have medicine, I just take it as needed," John said.

"Should I at least have a list . . . in case anything happens?"

"You mean if I go to the hospital again? They'll have it on my file, but I can give you the name of it," he agreed.

"I don't know what I mean, I guess," Sherlock said. "Do you need anything else? I've covered food, drink, and drugs -- what else is there that I could get you?"

"I'm okay for now. Did the case get solved? Do you have another one?" John asked.

"Yes, it's sorted," Sherlock said. "But I don't think I should work -- in case you need me."

"Are you sure? I know how you get when you're bored," John teased softly.

"It's not boring being with you," Sherlock said. "It's always interesting around you." He looked around a little. "What are you going to do now? I'm bored."

John raised his brows. "Um, I don't know. I might watch one of these films."

"I tried to get ones that I remembered you rambling on about," Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes but got up slowly to put one in the player.

"I can do it," Sherlock said sitting forward. "Unless I let should let you -- should I do it or not?"

"I'm up now," John said, moving carefully back to the sofa.

Sherlock watched him move. He didn't like it -- John still seemed fragile. He wondered if John would always seem like that from now on, if Sherlock's worry would always be at the forefront of his mind.

John sat down on the sofa again and leaned back with a small sigh. "Will you watch the movie with me?"

"All right," Sherlock said, getting up and putting the kettle back on for a new cup of tea. "You hungry? Need a snack or anything?"

"No, I'm fine for now. Just some tea, I think."

Sherlock brought in two fresh cups and sat down next to John on the sofa. "I'm glad you're back," he said quickly, adding, "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Sherlock." John smiled and pat his arm gratefully.

Sherlock did his best to stay focused during the film, but about half way through he realised that, despite being a bit bored, he could now relax a little. John was going to be all right. John was home.

When it finished, Sherlock got up and washed the mugs. "When do you want dinner?" he asked. "It'll take about an hour or so to get ready."

"Now? I mean, can we start it now?" John asked. He shut off the movie, putting the news on instead. "How can I help?" 

"Tell me what food you want," Sherlock said. "I'm ordering in. We can have whatever you want -- a treat after all that hospital food."

"Italian, I think." 

"All right," Sherlock said. He got out his phone and placed the order. "It'll be here soon. Anything you want to do before we eat? Do you feel okay? You can go lie down if you need to."

"No, I am sick of lying down," he smiled. "I'll wait here for dinner."

Sherlock sat down in his chair. "When do you think you'll be able to go back to work?"

"It'll be a while. A couple weeks at least." He licked his lips. "I won't be able to come on cases either. But I can still write about them."

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. "We'll see. . . " he said. "It might be good for me to stay around here more."

"You don't have to give up your cases," John said, even though the suggestion alone made him feel warm. Sherlock was married to his work, so it meant a lot if he really meant it.

"We'll see," Sherlock repeated. "There are probably a few we haven't written up yet anyway." He got up again and moved to the kitchen. "Shall we eat in there?" he asked as he got out some plates and silverware.

"I can come to the table." John pushed himself up and made his way slowly to the kitchen. "I can set the table, of you want."

"I know you can," Sherlock said. "I've watched you do it before. But tonight is your chance to watch me do it." He set out the dishes and glasses. "Water or something else to drink?"

"Water is fine. I can't have alcohol with my medicine."

Sherlock poured each of them a glass and then sat down. A few minutes later, he thought he heard a noise downstairs so he stood up and went to check, coming back with two bags of food. "I know there's probably too much," he said as he pulled the containers out of the bags. "We can save things for lunch, I guess. Don't eat too much that your stomach hurts -- it won't go to waste."

John smiled softly. "Yes sir," he teased, saluting Sherlock as he served dinner.

"I can't tell if you're mocking me," Sherlock said. "But did you ever think that maybe you need looking after? I mean, you and I have been out together many times but you never got hit by a car. I'm just thinking that perhaps from now on I should make all your decisions to ensure you don't get into any more trouble." He was smiling as he said it, even though there was a small part of him that wasn't quite joking.

"It was just an accident," John said. "Nothing could have stopped it."

"You say that . . ." Sherlock said. "Still, at least we know you'll be safe for the next few days." He glanced over at John's plate. "Food taste okay?"

"It's great, yeah," he smiled. "How's yours?" 

"Tastes fine," Sherlock said, putting more salad on his plate instead of eating the pasta. "Would you want to take a bath before you go to bed? I just want you to get a good night's sleep."

"That sounds great actually. I think the warm water will feel nice on the bruising," he said. He had caught a glimpse of his face earlier and it made him cringe. He hoped it faded soon.

Sherlock watched the reaction on John's face. "You're looking much better," he said. "Besides right now I'm the only one who has to see you and I've steeled myself to handle it." He gave John a smile as he picked at his salad a bit more.

John rolled his eyes but smiled back anyway. He went back to his meal, eating slowly since it was his first proper meal since the hospital. When he finished, what he could he leaned back and sighed. "That was good."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said, picking up the plates and moving to the sink to wash them up. "It won't be like this every night, of course, but I'm happy to keep you well fed."

John smiled and stood up. "I'm going to take that bath, okay?" 

"Do you want candles?" Sherlock asked quickly and then felt a bit embarrassed. "I mean, I want you to relax and on television they use candles . . ."

"Do we have candles?" John asked surprised. 

Sherlock looked down at the sink and quietly said, "I think there’s some -- they're in there if you want them."

John smiled at the back of Sherlock’s head. "Thank you." He went into the bathroom and started the hot water, adding some soap before opening the bag on the sink. He blinked. There were at least twenty candles in there. He took out a couple and set them on the edge of the tub while he took his clothes off.

The bruising was hard to look at. It was black and purple and yellow -- a right mess. No wonder Sherlock was panicking. When the bath filled, he shut off the water and carefully climbed in with a sigh.

Sherlock finished the washing up and put away the leftover food. He made himself a cup of tea and went over to his laptop to check his email. There were a couple client queries, but he left them for now. He'd check with John tomorrow, but he wanted tonight to just be about John settling back home.

John relaxed in the hot water, closing his eyes and breathing in the soft scent of the candles. The warmth did feel good on his body. He felt almost normal. When the water started to cool, he blew out the candles and put his hands on the sides to lift himself up. He groaned as he slumped back down, the water sloshing a bit. He took a deep breath and tried again, using his legs more but everything hurt. He slumped down again, pausing to see if Sherlock had heard anything.

He drained the water and hoped that would make it easier. He tried again, wincing as he dropped back. He swore softly and leaned his head back. After another minute he stretched, painfully, for his towel to drape over his waist. 

"Sherlock?" 

Sherlock got up and rushed to the bathroom. "John? Are you all right?" he called through the door.

"I . . . I can't get up. Out, I mean. From the bath." He sighed, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Sherlock opened the door slightly, sliding his hand in through the crack and turning off the light, before stepping. "I'll help you," he said, moving over. He grabbed his dressing gown from behind the door and handed it to John. Then he slipped his arm under John and counted, helping to lift him up. He turned quickly and left, flicking on the light as he passed the doorway.

"I..." John trailed off and watched him rush out. He slowly slipped of Sherlock’s dressing gown and put on his own pajamas. He didn't say anything to Sherlock as he settled on the sofa again.

Sherlock brought a fresh cup of tea over and then sat down. He took a sip of his own and then said, "You hurt at all?"

"No," John said, still embarrassed about it all.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "I saw you nude," he said, letting a little smile cross his lips.

"You turned the lights off and I had a towel," John said. He sipped his tea. "You only touched me nude."

"That's true," Sherlock said. "But I also took a peek -- just in case I ever need to identify you, nude, I mean." He took a sip. "I just like staying in the know."

John nodded slowly. "Thanks for helping," he said quietly. "It hurt, trying to push myself up."

"Well, if you want another bath, we'll just make a plan to get you out," Sherlock said. "Was it relaxing up to that point, at least?"

"Yeah, it was nice. The candles were a nice touch."

"Good," Sherlock said. "That's all that matters. I just want you to feel glad to be home."

"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?" John asked.

"I don't know . . . I just, I just want it to be . . . I don't know, John -- stop harassing me," he said. "Are you overtired? Do you need some meds or something?"

"I'll take some before bed since I strained myself in the tub. Don't shout at me, I'm not feeling well."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, quickly getting up and moving over to the sofa. "What can I do? I can get you something or do you need a doctor?"

John shook his head. "I was teasing, Sherlock. Please relax. I'm sorry."

Sherlock sat back a little. "Don't tease about this, John," he said softly. "I get worried. . ."

John touched Sherlock's had lightly. "I'm sorry. I just want to be . . . normal." 

"But it's not normal," Sherlock said quietly. "Because of what happened. . ."

"I know but . . . I just don't want it to be bad," he said. "I'm sorry. Honestly."

Sherlock shook his head a little and then looked over. "No, I'm sorry -- this has just shaken me a little. I'm sorry for overreacting about everything. I'll be more normal . . . well, I mean, I'll be more like I was before." He gave John a little smile.

John smiled back, pulling his hand back slowly and settling it in his lap. "Maybe I'll go to bed," he said. He pushed himself up with a groan. "Medicine first."

Sherlock went to move, but then stayed still. "Will you need some overnight? We can set it out or if you let me know, I can bring it to you. Just tell me what would work best for you," he said, hyper aware of his voice -- was it his usual voice or not?

"No, the morning should be fine," John said. "I shouldn't feel anything while I sleep." He took a pill in the kitchen, then turned and headed for the stairs.

"Uh, I made the bed for you down here," Sherlock said awkwardly. "In my room . . . I just thought it'd be easier for you to get around."

"I don't want to put you out," John said. "I can make my way up slowly."

"It's already set up --" Sherlock said. "Why don't you try it tonight and if you hate it, I'll get your bed sorted for you tomorrow." He looked up. "I know it's not normal, but you have just had surgery and the bath showed us you're not quite back to where you were, so should you just try it for tonight?"

John looked towards Sherlock's room, his eyes moving over everything else Sherlock was doing to try to take care of him. He was trying so hard and John just kept fighting him. "Okay," he nodded. "Thanks." The thought of sleeping in Sherlock's bed was strangely intimate, but he tried not to think about it too much as he headed that way.

"The sheets are clean," Sherlock said, getting up. "Well, they're new but we washed them so they'd be softer. Hopefully."

John nodded. "Are you . . . where will you sleep?"

"I don't want to disrupt you," Sherlock said. "I put my sheets on your bed, so I'll just sleep up there -- you can shout or text, though, if you need me."

"Oh. All right," he nodded. He looked around before climbing into bed. "Yours is comfortable," he smiled.

"It's pretty good," Sherlock said. "Should I bring you anything? Do you have your phone?"

"I don't have my phone, but I don't need anything else. I'm just going to try and get some sleep."

"You should have your phone," Sherlock said. "In case you need me." He went and fished it out of John's coat pocket, grabbing his charger on the way. He plugged it in and set it on the nightstand. "If you need anything," he said. "Just let me know, yeah?"

"Okay, thanks again Sherlock. Don't snoop through my things," John smiled.

"An outrageous suggestion," Sherlock said. "Besides I've already done a full search while you were gone." He stopped at the door. "I'm glad you're home," he said and pulled the door, not shutting it entirely.

John settled back and lay on Sherlock's bed. Freshly washed sheets or not, it smelled like Sherlock. He breathed in deeply and tried to sleep.

Sherlock made another cup of tea and sat down on the sofa to read. However, he was also listening to make sure he didn't hear anything from his room. This made it too hard to focus on the words on the page so eventually he changed into his pajamas and lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't sleep.


	7. John's Recovery, At Home

John shifted the other way. He winced, but he could also tell the medicine was working because it wasn't as bad as before. He closed his eyes and started to drift to sleep Then he heard the sound of the car hitting him. He opened his eyes again. His breath had changed, his heart was beating too fast. He glanced at his phone, biting his lip. 

_Are you snooping? -JW_

Sherlock rolled over and grabbed his phone, sitting up in a short panic which subsided the minute he saw the words.

_No. I tried but got bored. You're not as exciting as you lead on. You feeling all right? Need anything? SH_

_No. Just having trouble sleeping. -JW_

_Do you need more pills? SH_

_No, I'm not hurting too badly. -JW_

He hesitated with his thumbs over the keys. He didn't want to upset Sherlock, but he couldn't shut off his head. 

_I can't stop thinking about it. Hearing it. The accident, I mean. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have put John in his room, because he himself had often imagined the accident as he lay in that bed.

_Do you want to move upstairs? Would that help? SH_

_I don't think it's my location. Just my head. -JW_

_I could bring in my laptop and you could watch a film to distract you. Or I could tell you a joke? SH_

John smiled. 

_Tell me a joke. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment. Instead he wrote:

_Maybe I shouldn't be your emergency contact. SH_

_Is that the joke? It’s not very funny. -JW_

_I'm not good at responsibility. You know that. I didn't know what to say when the nurses asked. I am not trustworthy, John. SH_

_You're the only person I trust. -JW_

_But why? We both know I don't deserve a friend like you -- I am bound to let you down. SH_

_Why do you think that? -JW_

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say. His phone buzzed again.

_You're my best friend. -JW_

Sherlock read the words and wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have started this conversation. But he had so he decided to follow it through to the end, whatever that might be.

_You're my best friend. My only friend. I missed you so much while you were away. I hated it. SH_

_I'm sorry. But you're the only one I trust with my life, Sherlock. Every day, no matter what. -JW_

_I just want to do the right thing. For some strange reason, your happiness really matters to me. I suppose I never considered it before, but after this, I see how important it is to me. That you are to me. I'm sorry if this sounds stupid. It's hard for me to say these things, but I want to now. Just in case. SH_

_Come tell me. -JW_

Sherlock stared at the screen for a moment. Then he slowly got up and moved into his bedroom, going to the other side of the bed and sitting down at the end. He looked over at John in the dark. "Sorry," he said softly. "I know everyone thinks I've been a bit ridiculous, but I suppose all this . . . frightened me a little."  
  
John curved a bit and reached for his hand. "They were asking so many questions and I kept saying your name. I just wanted you by me."

"I wanted to be there," Sherlock said softly, gripping John's hand. "It felt wrong that you weren't by me all the time . . . I worry now when we're not together."

John squeezed his hand. "I know. I can't trust anyone else but you."

"I just want us to be .  . . with each other," Sherlock said stupidly. He moved a little closer on the bed.

"How?" John asked softly, rubbing Sherlock's hand with his thumb.

"I don't know," Sherlock mumbled, even though he thought he probably did. "Just close, I guess. Like always around each other . . . physically close. . ."

John tugged at Sherlock's arm. "I was so lonely when I came back from the war, you know that. And my sister is unreliable to get a hold of -- she was never a real option. But you . . ." He tugged Sherlock's arm harder to make him lay down. "It was always you."

Sherlock fell onto the bed beside John. "I didn't know what was going on -- I didn't think I'd have these feelings," he confessed.

John nodded, looking over at Sherlock through the dark. "I know what you mean, about the feelings."

"Do you think it's all right?" Sherlock asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Can we . .  . be like that?"

"I don't see why not, if we both want to . . . I've thought about it a lot. I've had you listed as my contact from almost the very beginning," John said. 

"Have you had . . . feelings for me the whole time?"

"I think I have. It explains a lot. And seeing the way you've been with me these days . . . I think you have feelings for me, too."

Sherlock rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh my god, John," he said. "I think you are right -- this is unexpected and a little bit worrying. I'm not very good with feelings -- when they're someone else's I can't handle them . . . god only knows what I'll do when they're mine." He reached over and held John's hand again.

"Nothing has to change very much," John said quietly. He held Sherlock's hand. "We're already together, you know?"

"I guess I didn't know," Sherlock said. "Until all this happened. And then it all felt so  . . . big." He rolled over and looked at John. "I don't want you to sleep anywhere else from now on. Including the hospital so don't get hit by any more cars, all right?"

John nodded, biting his lip softly. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock didn't react at first and then he kissed back. He lifted a hand to John's head and held it softly. When the kiss ended, he whispered, "I like that."

"Me too," John whispered, doing it again.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, parting his lips slightly to take in some of John's taste. A small noise escaped from his throat as his hand gripped John's hair.

John moaned softly before pulling back a bit. "I wish I could do more – wish I was so sore . . . I want to," he admitted.

"I like this . . . for now," Sherlock said. He shifted, moving John back flat onto the bed. "Let me kiss you now . . .you just get comfortable . . ." He leaned down and kissed John's mouth before covering his face with soft, little kisses.

John closed his eyes and enjoyed each one, such soft, gentle touches that surprise him a bit, in a good way. "I love you, Sherlock. I . . . I just wanted you to know that," he whispered so he wouldn't completely ruin the moment.

"Do you?" Sherlock said, lifting his head to look into John's eyes. "I think it's what I feel for you."

John nodded, holding his gaze and touching his cheek lightly. Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's mouth tenderly and then stroked his arm as he moved to softly kiss John's neck. John tilted his head a bit, carding his fingers through Sherlock's curls. Why did it take something so drastic to bring them together? This was so good. Perfect.

"Could I stay the night in here with you?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I would like that. Will you hold me?"

Sherlock snuggled down next to John, shifting himself a bit to get an arm around him. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "Make sure you're comfortable."

John curled a bit and fit himself against Sherlock's body. "It doesn't hurt," he assured him. "Just don't squeeze too hard." He held Sherlock's hand so he wouldn't take it away.

Sherlock relaxed a little, memorising this moment and the feel of John, his best friend, physically close to him, just as Sherlock had wanted. "I love you, John," he whispered. “I need you to always be all right, okay?”  
  
John put a small kiss on his neck. “With you, Sherlock, I will be,” he promised.


End file.
